


prey

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, At least he thinks he's fierce, Draco is fierce, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, an attempt at horror, bed sharing, diet steaminess, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27037756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's night and Draco is a predator. In search of prey. A very specific prey.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 41
Kudos: 146





	prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyonomiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyonomiko/gifts).



> Happiest of birthdays to you, dear Kyonomiko. You continue to be a gem and a delight. I'm so grateful to call you friend. May your special day be wonderful <3 and may this feeble attempt at horror make you smile.  
> Honestly, I just thought of all the tropes you enjoy and shoved them all together, and I'm pretty sure this is animagus crack fic <3 I hope you still like it! 
> 
> Many, many thanks to Frumpologist, tashadlv, and niffizzle for their keen eyes and encouraging words in the process of writing this little fic. You're all wonderful!

* * *

It’s night. 

Good. 

He prefers the night. 

Hunts are better at night. When prey is unsuspecting— _unaware._ The moon is a slip of silver-white light in the sky, and the stars are muted under thick fog. Lithe movements under the cloak of darkness shall win him his prize. 

His blissfully ignorant prize. 

A cruel smile splits his jaw open, and he runs his tongue over his fangs. 

He lifts up and makes himself tall. Terrible. Horrible. All who cross his path shall see him for the alpha he is. 

No surrender. No quarter. 

He will conquer. 

He takes a deep breath in, testing the stagnant air—

Waits. 

And waits a bit more. 

He doesn’t mind the wait. Patience is key when stalking specific prey. Patience will afford him the feminine peach and citrus scent he longs for—

_There!_

His nose twitches on instinct as his face jerks to the direction of that specific scent. _Her_ scent. 

He inches himself closer, drinking in large lungfuls of _her_ , just to be sure… 

She’s settled for the night. Not moving from her location. 

_Perfect_. 

He drops down to all fours and begins. 

His movements are light and swift; his body is a weapon. His body is a tool. He’s made himself fierce. Silent as Death itself. None escape once he’s decided on his prey. Trees are his ally; he can climb to any height he needs, and jump without fear from limb to limb. He pounces on and ends any that dare to cross his path. 

Her scent grows stronger. He’s drawing nearer. It’s all he has to go on for now—this is unfamiliar terrain: these rocks he scurries over, he bushes and brush he weaves around… He doesn’t know their feel. Their smell. 

Perfect. 

He likes the challenge. 

_Needs_ a challenge. 

She’s come to suspect everything else. She’s tracked his previous attempts. Tracked his patterns. Clever witch. He admires her for it. 

It’s why she’s his. 

His. 

His. 

_His._

This time it will work.

Tonight. 

Tonight he will hear her scream.

Tonight—

His nose twitches. 

He pauses, squinting his eyes. He knows that cluster of rocks. Those bricks. The trees. The pale flowers. 

He’s here. 

A light flicks on, and he jerks towards it. Soft gold floods his vision. 

An open window. Fluttering curtains. A feminine silhouette. 

He smiles a cruel smile. 

_Mine_. _She’s mine._

He takes a moment more to plan. 

Before he moves—

A flash—

A shadow—

He is Night. 

He is Terror. 

And Hermione Granger is _his._

* * *

Hermione suspects it’s one of those _things_ she’s merely come to accept— _expect,_ even—now that her boyfriend can now safely transfigure in and out of an animagus form. Draco often grumbles-slash-bemoans the irony of his form. She can’t say she blames him for it. 

She doesn’t even begrudge him whatever thrill of the hunt or chase or whatever he needs to do to maintain a threshold of dignity and pride. (The Malfoy ego is a delicate and fragile thing. She’s no intention of shattering either.) 

But she never lies to him. 

And while she isn’t expecting him this time—her boyfriend said he was out of town tonight, this _is_ slightly ridiculous. 

Her initial scream is honest enough—only because she’s completely startled and unprepared to see Draco’s ferret form running a small circle around her legs—so is the laughter that bubbles past her lips once the initial shock wears off is genuine, too.

And Hermione can see Draco’s indignation at _that_. 

It’s all too obvious as he suddenly stops running. 

Glares at her. 

_Hisses_. 

He bloody hisses and she doubles over in laughter. 

Because—

_Because…_

He’s so _cute_. It’s _darling_. 

It’s all the more endearing when he’s suddenly a man towering over her, glowering. His pale blond hair falls over his eyes as he leans over her. “Something amusing, pet?” 

“ _You_.” She lays her palm over his chest. “You keep trying and trying but it doesn’t work. You’re just not scary.” 

He smirks and she sees the fire in his eyes. Fire in a river of molten silver. “Not scary at all?” 

“Not a bit.” She lifts herself on her toes to nip at his jaw—

Only to find herself caught in his embrace. 

“If I can’t scare you, I’ll just have to settle for—” 

He lifts her off her feet and jabs his fingers into her side. 

“Draco, no!” She squeals and starts to kick her legs—a minimal attempt at fighting back, because she’s no intention of breaking free. “No tickling!” 

“Stop me then, Granger.” His chuckle is full of dark mirth. “Give me your best—”

His teasing comeback is swallowed up by her own embrace. Her lips embracing his. Pressing. Seeking. 

Tasting. 

Her tongue traces over the seam of his mouth, and everything morphs into a different type of heat. One that doesn’t scare her. One that she’s happy to be caught in over and over again. 

One that leads to the stripping of layer after layer as they hum and sigh and stumble their way back to her bed. 

They tumble and adjust, Draco being the one caught between her thighs, while she’s bracketed between his arms on the mattress. He holds her gaze as he enters her slowly. So slowly. Taking his time…

Until he’s buried to the hilt…

And they’re both caught up in a dance and rhythm as old as time itself. 

* * *

He’s curled around Hermione in bed, pulling her close to his bare chest. Breathing her in. She’s cuddled herself tightly to him, slotting her foot between his legs. It’s hot sometimes and hard to catch a full breath when sleeping with the fiercely possessive Hermione Granger. 

Not that it matters. 

He’s happy to be the one she clings so tightly to. Happy to be the one caught in _her_ night after night. 


End file.
